


Under The Stars

by SennaLaureen



Series: Taming A Stray [2]
Category: Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Universe Alteration, spoilers for the Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennaLaureen/pseuds/SennaLaureen
Summary: At last, Meve and her army arrived at Mount Carbon - and were promptly invited to a dwarven feast.





	Under The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Since Thronebreaker is a story-telling game, I did borrow some passages from the game itself - dialogues and descriptions. These passages do NOT belong to me, but to the incredible game production team of CD Projekt Red! Same goes for the amazing story and characters.  
> Enjoy!

Meve’s army was stationed outside of Mount Carbon, on the Langbridge. The soldiers shivered, waiting for their Queen to return – the cold wind pierced through every armour and clothing. So it was a very pleasant surprise for everyone, when Meve returned from her conversation with Brouver Hoog and announced that the dwarves are preparing a feast for them. When the sun had retired behind the peaks, the underground city came alive with the sound of bugles, bagpipes and horns. The dwarves emerged out into the central square and danced exuberantly, sparks kicking up from their hubnail boots. Meve’s soldiers, putting behind their hard journey so far and their uncertain future, danced and laughed with the dwarves like there was no tomorrow. The usually crabby Elder-in-Chief Hoog proved a cordial host that evening.

“Let’s drink! Lest our neck-shafts grow cobwebs!”

Delicious dwarven specialities and the best mead were aplenty for the guests, and the music prompted many to compete with the dwarves in dancing and singing. Meve herself decided to lift a cup or two, feeling the ghost of the incident with the avalanche finally fade from her bones, replaced by the slight tipsiness, that allowed her to laugh at even the worst of Gascon’s jokes. She made a grave mistake by telling her associates about the deal she made with Brouver – a feast that meant to last a week according to sacred dwarven tradition was reduced to only one night.

“That’s it!”, proclaimed Gascon, hitting the table with his cup and spreading its contents everywhere, “I shall never forgive you for depraving us of the chance to drink and dance seven days long! I shall not!”

Meve could not hold back a smile at that, and hid it behind another moderate sip. Reynard, sitting to her right, hummed disapprovingly at that he apparently deemed unacceptable behaviour towards his Queen. The general didn’t touch his cup the whole night, and thus was the only sober person in the whole city, whereas Gascon didn’t miss the opportunity and was in the thick of the celebrations, gracefully dancing with Isbel in the middle of the large hall, between massive wooden tables. A broad smile lit up his face, his cheeks coloured bright red, he looked very young in the flickering light of the torches. Meve caught herself wishing she was unburdened by her title and responsibilities for only one night, so she could dance and laugh with her friends.

 _So you could dance with Gascon,_ a small voice inside her head corrected her.

Meve stifled these thoughts out immediately, absolutely refusing to think about it. She had a war to win, a realm to free from invaders, and at least one traitor among her ranks, the recipient of the cryptic Nilfgaardian letter they intercepted earlier. She simply did not have the luxury of behaving like a maiden of fifteen summers.

As if sensing that she was thinking about him right now, Gascon turned around and, upon catching her gaze, winked at her.

“Hey yo, Meve, come dance with us!”

The former brigand most likely knew, that the Queen won’t follow up on his invitation - he proceeded to climb the nearest table and, accompanied by drunken chant, performed an elegant back-flip, earning himself thunderous applause from both dwarves and humans alike, and losing his stupid hat in the process. He bowed in all directions, his messy short hair sticking up in the most elegant way, and glanced at Meve, as if seeking approval. She raised her eyebrows, maintaining a straight face, yet could not help herself – the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement, while warmth spread in her chest – warmth, that had little to do with the two cups of exceptional dwarven wine she had so far.

The feast lasted long after midnight. Reynard, worried that his soldiers won’t be able to stand in the morning, pleaded with Meve to round up the festivities and send the men sleeping it off, but she knew that for many of her soldiers this was probably the last chance to celebrate, so she put it off as long as she could. To avoid another of Reynard’s complaints, she excused herself from the dining hall, and walked down the desolate corridors of Brouver Hoog’s city carved directly into the mountain. Looking for some fresh air, Meve came across a wooden door, that led to a balcony on the outside of the mountain – all around was mere darkness, meekly illuminated by the light from the windows above and below. She stepped outside, took a deep breath – and realized she wasn’t alone: behind the door Gascon was laying across the broad parapet of solid stone, his head on his hands, watching the night sky. As he heard footsteps approaching, he sat upright.

“Meve! Didn’t expect anyone, let alone…”

Suddenly, one of his hands slipped off and he plummeted into the darkness on the other side of the balcony.

Meve’s heart stopped beating.

“GASCON!”

She rushed to the edge, leaning over – and suddenly found herself an inch from Gascon’s grinning face. Hanging over the abyss, he easily held on to the walls of the balcony, his feet securely planted on the small ledge outside.

“Worried about me,” he whispered, his warm breath ghosting on Meve’s skin. It wasn’t even a question, but a mere statement – laced with the same arrogance that seemed to be a part of Gascon.

Meve stepped back, putting some distance between them and trying to calm down her racing heart, while he resumed his place on the parapet, watching her with a satisfied smirk.

“Of course I was worried,” angry at being played like that, she turned around to leave.

“Heda! Meve!” As she continued her way to the door without as much as giving away that she heard him, Gascon appeared in front of her in one swift motion, his hands up in the air and an apologetic smile on his lips. “Sorry ‘bout that! Couldn’t resist, was curious too 'bout how that whole holdin’ on would work.”

Despite her irritation, Meve gasped in surprise. “You didn’t know whether you’d be holding on, and still pulled that trick off? Are you sick of life!?”

“With you in it? Never! Besides, a life without risk here and there is a life not worth living, Meve.”

She let an exasperated sigh – Gascon had an exceptional talent for driving her mad. But with that charming smile all across his face, Meve just couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

“What were you even doing here anyway? I believed you to be still dancing with the others in the hall.”

“Was watchin’ the stars,” Gascon pointed up. She followed his gaze.

Not a single cloud in sight, the stars shined trice as bright as Meve had ever seen them. Lonely dots of light and whole swirls of beautiful chaos all came together into one breathtaking picture.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gascon’s voice brought her back to here and now. He was watching her with an unreadable expression, yet quickly averted his gaze. “I used to watch the night sky for hours on end.”

Meve sensed a wave of melancholy in the twisted line of his mouth.

“Used to? What happened?”

Gascon let out a deep sigh. “Life happened.”

A loaded silence followed. Meve wasn’t sure whether to press the matter or let Gascon decide to tell her his story on his own terms.

Suddenly, he turned back to her, a bright smile back in its place like it was never gone. “But ain’t that the worst possible place ‘n’ time to dwell on the past! We are at the feast, right? Let’s dance!” Surprised at the sudden change of subject, Meve frowned as Gascon bowed before her, holding out his hand for her to take.

“Unfortunately, I am no maiden at a fair to be invited to a dance,” suspecting another mockery or a game, afraid to be the laughingstock of one of Gascon's infamous jokes again, Meve crossed her arms instead and regarded the other with a stern look.

Gascon sighed, yet didn’t retreat his hand. “Meve, please, relax. There is nobody here 'cept us. You can let it go and have fun for once, and nobody finds out, I swear!“

If it was anyone else, Meve would have left, as it was right and proper for her rank and title, but Gascon’s hopeful expression made her hesitate.

As a queen, she was used to trust her heart just as much as her head, and right now her heart told her that there was nothing wrong with enjoying herself, just for a little bit. Her soldiers celebrated downstairs, so why couldn’t she do the same? And she was somehow sure, Gascon won’t tell anyone. Her heart urged her to accept the invitation.

"You mean, you danced with every woman and she-dwarf in the vicinity of twenty leagues except me, and now you want to complete your list?”, Meve’s voice was playfully cold, though she already made up her mind. And judging by the grin on Gascon’s face, he knew that too.

“You, my Queen, would be the _crown_ of it.”

Meve couldn’t help but laugh at that, as she finally placed her hand in his, accepting the invitation. To her surprise, Gascon was an exceptional dancer – he immediately accepted Meve leading him, and followed her suit to the non-existent beat.

Maybe it was the alcohol, that went to Meve’s head, but all she remembered about that moment were their bodies moving in unison beneath the stars, their shared laughter taking off into the darkness of the cold night, Gascon’s hand in hers and his body pressed against her, his flushed cheeks, his beaming eyes, his bright smile.

And in that moment, she remembered herself to be the happiest she was in a very long time.

They moved faster and faster, until – finally! - they tripped over each other’s feet, and Gascon locked her in his arms, lest she very ungracefully fell on her royal bottom. Still drunk on laughter and adrenaline, Meve regained her balance, steadying herself on Gascon’s shoulders.

Their faces were a mere inch apart, and Gascon didn’t show any inclination to move away, though neither did Meve. Time appeared to stand still, as she couldn’t avert her gaze from his warm hazel eyes. His breath ghosted over her skin, his expression open and vulnerable. Full of hope.

“Meve, I...”, his voice - a whisper – was loaded with raw emotion, that mirrored her own.

Suddenly she heard steps from the corridor leading up to the balcony. The spell broken, Meve took a step away from Gascon, recognizing Reynard’s rattling armour. The next moment the latter opened the door, and upon spotting Meve, stood at attention.

“Your Majesty, Brouver Hoog sends for you. It is urgent.”

Meve took a deep breath to regain her composure. “Of course, Reynard”, she looked back and realized, bewildered, that she was alone on the balcony. “I’m on my way.”

As she followed him, she stole another glance at the parapet and could swear, that she saw a hand holding on to the icy stone.

~~~

The next day, Meve left Mahakam strengthened by Brouver Hoog’s support, her ranks welcoming additional soldiers in the face of battle-hardened dwarves. Even so, the queen was in a foul mood. It was clear that a traitor among the Lyrians – someone who had conveyed her plans to her son – was in their middle. From this moment on, Meve  had to keep her distance from absolutely anyone – even  from her closest associates. Her head, having been cleared of the alcohol from the feast, warned her not to trust anyone – every single soul could wear the Nilfgaardian lead around their neck.

Yet deep in her heart, she never seriously entertained the idea of either Reynard or Gascon to be the traitors. Reynard was her oldest and most loyal ally, and Gascon... Meve was absolutely certain, that in this moment, on the balcony, with merely her name on his lips, Gascon was completely and utterly honest with her. 


End file.
